


love is blindness

by harscrow



Category: Megadeth, Metallica
Genre: Barebacking, Derogatory Language, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 20:36:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14679036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harscrow/pseuds/harscrow
Summary: Words like venom seeping through a sinister smirk, Dave spits them out hoping in some vestiges of James’ former naiveté for his bitter lies to be believed.“You got no power over me, so you can take off that bad guy mask, because you know better than anyone that’s actually /my/ game. And unlike you, I don’t bluff.” He pushes the blade into James’ belly, twisting and turning, but when he looks down he realizes he’s the one bleeding.[set during the summer of '89]





	love is blindness

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first Hetstaine fic I write, and I'm a little nervous about it.  
> I know I've poured my whole heart and soul into it though, and I can only hope it feels just as much of an emotional ride for you as it was for me. I love these two idiots and this pairing way too much for my own good, send help.

_ California, summer of ’89 _

__

An impatient lover booking a motel room under a false name tends to get nervous, especially when he feels like control is slipping through his fingers.  
  


They haven’t seen each other in months, mostly due to the fact that James has been all over the States _with the guys_. One week followed the other until both Dave and James lost track of them; they were too busy to keep counting anyway. Busy and prideful.  
  


Though not spoken with anyone, the effects of that prolonged absence have been taking their toll on Dave. Doesn’t matter how much crack he smoked, it could never make him feel less hollow, less lonely as James' presence usually did.  
  


What Dave hasn’t grasped yet is that James missed him too during that tour leg, so much that calling him was the first thing he did once he was back. As he realized who the voice talking from the other side belonged to, Dave held onto the receiver tight.  
  


“I wanna see you.” Commanded James’ voice.  
  


The statement was met with a silent sneer and a blunt request. “Kaatskill Inn, 7 pm. Don’t be late, Jamie.”

So here he is now.  
  


It used to be the other way around, Dave recalls. James following him around like a lost, drunk puppy with image issues. Back then it was easier for Dave to pretend he was the one holding the leash, it would have been a convincing tale.  
  


Now, as the boy from a broken home turned into a man and started growing confident with himself – looking like a norse god, tall and blonde, the world bowing at his roars – Dave can’t help but believe James is going to dump him any moment for someone better or, more easily, less problematic. Doubt and anxiety creeping under his skin, he keeps wondering if James has eventually tapped Newsted’s ass. The new guy is clearly begging for it since he joined Metallica. Dave has noticed the way he looks at James, with that disgusting urge to please in his eyes. A growing sense of nausea makes him wanna fuck shit up, but mostly get stoned out of his mind.  
  


Dave wishes he could go back to a time when his sanity didn’t revolve around James Hetfield, but it’s difficult to even remember such a condition ever existed in the first place, when all he does nowadays is waiting for James to put his cock in his mouth. And he takes it, and he craves it. Like a dutiful – though very unfaithful – wife. _Like a bitch._  
  


He ain’t one, though. He’s gonna show James. He’s gonna show everyone. He ain’t one.  
  


The knock on the door comes soon enough to startle him out of his paranoid thinking.  
  


On the other side of it, James is nervously happy. Adrenaline pumping, hair tied back to reveal his fresh undercut, and Dave’s favorite leather jacket on. But his loaded smile fades out when he walks in on a sight most unpleasant. Sitting in the middle of the bed, Dave’s hunched over his own lap, lighter in one hand, dirty pipe in the other.  
  


“…the hell?” James grunts, Dave’s head perking up at the inquisitive tone. “Put away that crap when you’re with me.”  
  


Dave shrugs, trying not to look at him. One single, quick glance and his heart jumps in his chest for how handsome James is. So handsome it pulls, it hurts, it burns. Everywhere. _Fuck him._  
  


“Or what, James? I’m not your bitch.” He just needed to say it out loud and take it out of his head. His fingers shake slightly as he speaks, in the attempt of lighting the fuse of his chemical bomb as fast as he can. He needs it, he needs it now.  
  


Him against Dave’s fix of the day. This is the kind of competition James doesn’t find enjoyable. This, actually, is the type that keeps him awake at night, short of breath, obsessively stewing about the fact he’s never gonna be enough. He fell for someone hungry, enraged, even more than he is. He fell for an addict, and he would do it again and again because nothing – no one – fits the jagged edges of his soul as well as Dave’s fingertips do.  
  


So this is his curse, to be secretly a junkie himself, dependent on the one thing he knows he’ll never get, the one thing Dave could never give him: absolute devotion. He keeps chasing after it, stubborn and angry and insecure, but just like any intoxicated human wreck, James survives on all the crumbs he can get his hands on. Living at the other’s mercy leaves him painfully unsated, but it’s either that or nothing at all, and he’s not ready to loosen his grip. He never will.  
  


The thought has never even reached the tip of his tongue, but James feels inadequate every time he looks into Dave’s dilated pupils. Erratic and only motivated by spite, the fallen angel has never been so visibly shattered. Not so deep down, James blames the asshole who had pushed Dave over the brink years before, by driving him to that damned bus station. James knows he can’t stand that guy, especially when he clings onto someone he has no right over anymore. And yet. He doesn’t know how to stop, even though Dave is always gonna want more, sometimes less, than what James has got to offer.  
  


“Gimme that stuff.” Headstrong, he stomps toward Dave, frame towering over him.  
  


“No.” Dave’s defiant eyes dart as quickly as he does, jumping off the bed to shield his possession from James’ insistent reach.  
  


James growls, fist tightening in frustration. “I’m gonna wipe that sneer off your fucking face.”  
  


If this is some kind of sick game to Dave, it’s not to him. He’s gonna smash that pipe under his boot if it’s the last thing he does. Every fiber of his being wishes he could crush Dave’s addiction along with the cheap glass, right under his weight. It’s nothing more than a puerile, impossible desire; he knows, yet he can’t help yearning for that.  
  


“Ha!” Feet planted to stand his ground, Dave taunts him, tongue swiping at the corner of his mouth. He fires the heavy artillery, relentless. “They all fall for it, don’t they? For some reason everyone is so scared of you, but I’m not. I don’t give a shit about gaining or losing your approval, so fuck you for trying to control me.”  
  


James hates the vulnerability that comes with Dave’s unique ability to see through his defense wall. Yet, he’s too stubborn to retreat. He won’t bare his throat for him to rip it out.  
  


“Oh, they’re right to be afraid.” He bellows, suddenly up against Dave, puffing out his chest like the most primal beast of prey in human form. He wants to beat him up so bad, the fucking shithead. He’d even put on his favorite jacket, like a goddamn idiot, just to have Dave barking at him for no valid reason.  
  


Dave doesn’t budge one inch. How cathartic is the sweet, sweet vertigo before a downhill; the promise of scraped knees just an exquisitely human brand of pain.  
  


“You wanna hit me?” He rasps. A wild thing himself, untamed, red bangs merely touching his fearless, scorching eyes. “Then do it! Do it, you coward!”  
  


Despite the blood boiling furiously in his veins, James doesn’t. He can’t bring himself to deny that statement either: ‘coward’. Not a lie. But that is not why he won’t lay a hand on the man standing in front of him.  
  


Considering James’ dead silence a moment of weakness, Dave takes advantage of it. Words like venom seeping through a sinister smirk, Dave spits them out hoping in some vestiges of James’ former naiveté for his bitter lies to be believed.  
  


“You got no power over me, so you can take off that bad guy mask, because you know better than anyone that’s actually _my_ game. And unlike you, I don’t bluff.” He pushes the blade into James’ belly, twisting and turning, but when he looks down he realizes he’s the one bleeding.  
  


Fixed on Dave, James’ eyes are set afire, lit up with hubris. A trick he learned to counter low blows like that. “I’ll make it very simple for your _junkie ass_. Right now, it’s either spending time with me or smokin’ that shit. Make your fucking choice.” He barks, limbs shaking from what Dave will mistake for wrath but is really a most violent fear of abandonment.  
  


“Don’t flatter yourself, Jamie. You’re not that important.” Dave lies, seemingly unfazed, flipping his hair back. “This,” he waves the pipe in James’ face, “was with me when you weren’t.”  
  


And that’s it. That’s where James gets the wind knocked out of his lungs. Too sober to keep the cruel charade going, he resorts to what he does best when he’s not drunk: running. He needs to speed at 80mph on the highway, car engine loud enough to mask the sound of his demons laughing. “I’m leaving. I didn’t come here to fight.”  
  


“Yeah. You came here to fuck, uh?”  
  


Red. All red is what James sees, sudden as a gunshot. Ears ringing, a piercing need for violence stabs his flesh.  
  


“Shut the fuck up!” He charges quickly, gives him a hard shove, one Dave wasn’t counting on. It sends the redhead right against the wall, James’ forearm pressed against his throat. “If you wanna act like I’m just using you to empty my balls, maybe stop jumping on my dick any chance you get. You’d sound less a hypocrite, you fucking slut.”  
  


Dave easily sneaks out of the chokehold, the pipe laying forgotten on the cheap carpeted floor as he throws the man he loves up against the wall. “I’m not the bigger hypocrite in the room, Jamie. But nice try.”  
  


Grabbing him tight by the collar, Dave can’t escape the beauty of the storm in James’ blue eyes. They’re turning dangerously leaden now, as he keeps him caged against his will, trickster Loki holding over magnificent Thor. James is beautiful, it’s all Dave can think. He likes him angry. But he also likes him peaceful, he likes him serious, he likes him silly, he likes him always. And James likes him back, at least enough to be here now. Rationally, Dave knows he doesn’t really have a reason to be doing this to him, and yet he feels like their bodies are only responding to the inevitability of it all every time they clash.  
  


He’s so close to his lips now he’s tempted to kiss them, kiss this mess better, but James is quicker and curses him instead.  
  


“Go to hell.” The blonde hisses, voice so chilling it sends shivers down Dave’s spine. There’s nothing. No emotion, no will to fight. As if James stopped caring with a snap of fingers.  
  


Dave feels his muscles go limp and, as soon as he lets go, James shoves his way out of his hold. Fast, too fast.  
  


“I’m hitting the road in a couple days, won’t be back until the end of September.” James straightens his jacket, bold even in defeat. “Go find someone else to fuck your ass because it won’t be me.”  
  


No, just _no_. There’s not much Dave is aware of right now except that this is not what he wanted. In the confused tangle of his thoughts, his own will keeps shifting and morphing, a perverse dancer bound to chemical unbalance. The only certainty he’s got is that if James is out of there, in a matter of seconds he’s gonna be wrecked by his absence in a crack-induced daze, and possibly shoot up later too; that much, Dave knows. If he lets the man walk out of the door now, he might not be around to see him again when he’ll be back in two months. He just might not, and he realizes that in a transient moment of dreadful insight.  
  


“James. Jamie. Wait, fuck.”  
  


Back turned on Dave, James is torn up inside. Mortally wounded, pride tells him to just leave, just go, just get rid of his useless aching heart, drown it in booze. But his heart – that little fuck – got its own plans. Which is why when he feels pulling at his sleeve, James relapses into Dave’s orbit without much resistance.  
  


Dave’s grip tightens around his wrist, shaking and desperate. “Fuck you.” He gnarls, for how easily James was ready to walk out on him. “Fuck… me.” He sobs too, the frustration of not being touched igniting his bones from within.  
  


“The fuck’s your problem?” Exhausted, James _has_ to ask, even though he knows there’s no simple answer for that question. He doesn’t want it anyway, it’s not required for him to stay. Cause he will.  
  


“Can’t quit that shit, man. It’s always on my mind.” Growing frantic, Dave unzips James’ jacket, hands sneaking under the leather to reach the warmth of his chest. His scent, his stance, his frail composure, everything about him makes Dave go weak at the knees. Off balance, liquid eyes glistening with urgency, he clings onto James’ broad shoulders, tugging at his clothes, stripping him off. High on lust, he ends up asking for something he’s never asked anyone before. “I need you to help me, okay? _Help me_. Fuck my brains out. Help me stop thinking. Just… for one fucking night. Fuck. Please.”  
  


Fingers firmly wrapped around Dave’s throat, James doesn’t even need to squeeze to feel his lover’s frenzied pulse salute his touch. He bites those pleas off Dave’s lips, avid collector of moans he is. This is what he’s addicted to the most, the other kissing him back like he’s starving, plastered against his body, shamelessly eager.  
  


James’ had thundering crowds pushing their limits to please him, and people in the front row begging for just a spatter of his beer. He’s had grown-up dudes worshipping the ground he walks on, and chicks riding his cock like they were climbing for heaven. He’s had it all, but nothing compares to the rush of power running through his veins when Dave Mustaine gets hard for him. Nothing feels as right – and satisfying, and lewd – as staking his claim on him.  
  


Untying James’ hair to let it fall on his shoulders, Dave basks in his own victory. “You’re so fuckin’ hot, you know? Lookin’ like a man who’s gonna fuck me real good.” His words curl in a lecherous dance around his tongue, teeth grazing the other’s lips. He takes a step back as he aggressively fiddles with the button to get out of his skinny jeans. He’s mesmerized by the way James mirrors his moves, and they get undressed, fast, need fueling them both.  
  


As insecure as he might feel under his cocky façade whenever they’re separated, Dave’s crippling doubts never fail to crumble as James’ palms land roughly on his ass to pull him closer. He’s already shaking, itching for more, when the blonde picks him up and he secures himself there, legs wrapped around James’ waist. In the heat of the moment he’s not the least bit ashamed, his masculinity not threatened at all as James carries him to bed like this; he’s never told him, but he’d let James lead him anywhere. He’d follow him to hell if needed, if only James asked. But he never did.  
  


Fingers latched onto the other’s shaved nape, Dave sucks onto the tender skin of his throat, keen on leaving his mark there. He paints it red, and feels James growling under a swipe of his tongue, like a lion being teased. That’s what the blonde looks like now: a golden king, equally splendid and feral, eyeing his prey from above.  
  


Except Dave is no prey, but fire incarnated instead. That’s what James sees, red hair spread all over the pillow like a burning halo, the heat radiating from Dave’s skin growing feverish, searing at the touch. James can’t imagine a better way to die than being engulfed by those beautiful flames, a most dangerous allure he succumbed to years ago.  
  


Impatient, Dave starts grinding against James’ cock, grabbing onto his lower back to increase the friction. James savors the little whimpering sounds the other makes as he thrusts back, and whispers a viscous, dirty promise into his ear. “I’m gonna fuck you raw, baby.”  
  


“Fuck yes.” It drips from Dave’s insolent mouth, bent in a crooked smile. His legs gladly part, eyes fluttering closed when James’ fingers – slick with lube – find their way between his thighs.  
  


James leans over to kiss him, lips soft but hungry on Dave’s pale face as he works him open. He smells like smoke and desire wrapped in leather, a scent that gets trapped between his curls, and in the curve of his neck. James tries to steal it from him, take it for himself, teeth tracing Dave’s jugular in a silent, eerie caress. His bites grow deeper as the other’s moans get louder, and Dave encourages him, neck arching forward, chasing the beast’s jaws instead of shying away from them.  
  


Clawing at James’ shoulders, Dave curses with each brush at his most sensitive spot. He remembers the day they first learned about this as if it happened to two different people. James was so shy and unfamiliar with anatomy back then, and is so confident in his skills now. He knows exactly where to touch him and how, and it shows in his smug expression.  
  


“Hey, dickhead.” Dave whispers to get his attention, looking at his face as if he’s trying to understand where that introvert, scrawny kid went.  
  


“Hey, asshole.” James shoots back, smiling. And there it is, the goofy 18 year old boy with kind eyes and few words to spare.  
  


‘I love you’ is what Dave thinks, so suddenly it punches him right in the head. Cruelly keen on never saying those three words out loud – but dizzy and very aroused – he struggles greatly to hold his tongue. “What are you waitin’ for? Fuck me senseless.”  
  


James, not the epitome of patience either, doesn’t wait any longer. He jerks his fingers out and pours more lube on his cock. Stroking himself a couple times, he curses, feels good but not nearly enough. He enters him slowly, smoothly, Dave’s ankles brushing against his hips as James drives deep inside him.  
  


Capturing Dave’s lips with his own, James lets greed guide him. What he’s taking belongs to him, and each powerful thrust proves it. The sound of the headboard thumping against the wall quickly matches their heavy panting, all the curses and praises. Like they were built to give each other pleasure, they fit and function in a way that is just too perfect to be deemed anything but divine. And yet there is something very earthly, concrete, about their pace.  
  


“Jamie- God.” Dave gasps, fingertips digging into James’ arms. “M-more.”  
  


James pulls out to flip him over on his hands and knees, and snaps his hips to shove all the way back inside in one rapid push that knocks the air out of Dave.  
  


“I wanna hear ya.” He growls, one hand fisting Dave’s hair, and it’s an order that sends shivers down the other’s spine as he arches back to follow the iron grip.  
  


“Fuck!” Dave cries out, James grasping his waist roughly and that hard, thick cock filling him up to madness. The bed creaks under each thrust, the slapping sound of skin on skin obscenely loud.  
  


With James pounding him into a spiral of bliss, Dave grabs the sheets so tight his knuckles turn white and he soon crumbles face down on the mattress. He reaches for his cock and finds himself leaking precum, incredibly close, just a few pumps away from his climax.  
  


“Yeah, baby. Come on my cock.” James gloats, smacking Dave’s ass to rip the most delicious of moans out of him. He keeps giving it to him, vicious and steady until he feels Dave clenching around him in a throbbing, hot embrace. It’s like that lean body can’t get sated and keeps sucking him in again and again, and James comes like that, Dave still whimpering with pleasure as the blonde growls out his own satisfaction.  
  


Summer heat creeping inside the room, they both lay there on the bed, panting, damp with sweat. The tears of pleasure Dave cried start to dry up at the corner of his eyes, and James wishes he had some ice-cold beer to chug in the aftermath of such a fulfilling orgasm.  
  


Messy hair and glistening eyes, Dave lazily rolls on his side to look at him in that haze of content exhaustion. “Stay the night.” He says, booping James’ nose so innocently, as if he didn’t just take a load up his ass and thoroughly enjoyed it.  
  


Playful, James pretends he wants to bite Dave’s finger off, but the other is quicker than him and successfully retreats. James ends up grabbing his hand to kiss his salty palm instead, a low, throaty laughter leaving his lips. “You didn’t think I was done with you yet, right?”  
  


He intends to spend wisely every minute they can get hold of, and make it count. Selfishly, he wants Dave to walk out of that room and feel the same way he always does when they part: as if half his soul left. He wants him to beg for time to rush its course and allow them to see each other again. Little does James know, his desire has always been reality.  
  


“I hope you’re not, Jamie. But I wasn’t talking ‘bout that.” Dave mumbles, nuzzling James’ shoulder.  
  


As he bends his leg to let it rest on top of him, Dave can feel himself leaking James’ cum and can’t help but recognize surging pride in his heart. He realizes once again that the things he lets that man do to him are crazy and granted to him alone in the world. _Everything_ about their relationship is crazy and – even though he doesn’t care about such a thing – morally wrong, but he never regrets it hard enough to put an end to it.  
  


James is so calm now, almost meek as he stares at the ceiling and keeps caressing his thigh. Dave wants to sleep with him that night, to actually rest while listening to his heartbeat. His chest is the only place on Earth that feels like home, the quiet rhythm of his heart the only soothing tune in his world of chaos.  
  


He only needs to look at him once again though, to see something shifting in his blue eyes – what seems to be a vague sense of unease. He must be staring too intensely, because for once James speaks before Dave can even ask.  
  


“You know,” the blonde clears his throat, tentatively, “I didn’t mean to call you that, earlier.”  
  


James sighs, because sometimes he feels like he doesn’t have a choice: he gets mad, they both do, and he wishes he could break Dave’s confidence just to rebuild it himself from scratches. It’s his big ego taking over, clouding his judgement until he says such painful shit he gets overwhelmed with shame. He had promised himself he would never hurt Dave again but it never stops, it never works, and he never learns. Just like a goddamn child, playing adult.  
  


Anyone else wouldn’t be sure which name James is referring to, but Dave knows exactly what he’s apologizing for, in his own way. It’s odd for him to believe that someone would do that, but considering this is James he’s not even that much surprised.  
  


“I know. It’s fine.” He says, and he means that. He cups James’ chin, gently forcing him to turn his face. “We’re just so good at hurting each other, aren’t we? All the stupid shit we say.” Dave rolls his eyes. “You, mostly.”  
  


“Me? Oh really?” James snorts, acting offended but visibly relieved.  
  


“Don’t worry, big boy. You were right about that one.”  
  


Dave wishes he could choke on his own ominous words because, despite how good he feels right now, he knows he’s gonna smoke crack as soon as James falls asleep. He can see himself sneaking to the bathroom, bent over the sink, watching as the man in the mirror goes from hating himself to developing delusions of grandeur that will fuel him for another day.  
  


Until then, though, he has no intention of breaking James’ heart. Lord knows he’s already done it too many times, and he regrets each and every one of them, doesn’t matter that James did it first and the gaping wound aches still.

_ “You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love.  
That, my dear, is love.” _

_ – Franz Kafka _

__


End file.
